


Not Just Another Pretty Face

by jhughe17



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhughe17/pseuds/jhughe17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is from Felicity's POV and starts between the return from Russia and State v. Queen. It's likely to go AU after the events of State v. Queen, but hopefully you'll enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Inner Ramblings of Felicity Smoak

Some days I could kill Oliver Queen. Sometimes those days coincide with me wearing a pencil skirt, four inch heels, and a button up blouse while being bloated from my period when I would really rather hide out from everyone wearing something frumpy in my old office surrounded by computers. I didn’t appreciate my IT job the way I should have… It was so good to me. For one thing, I didn’t have to deal with bitchy Isabel and her alternatively snobby and pitying glances my way. I can’t decide if she thinks I’m sleeping with the boss or if she thinks I’m a pathetic waste of space that does Oliver Queen’s bidding and therefore should be patronized.

Speak of the devil and she doth appear.

Damn it.

“How may I help you, Isabel?” I rose from my desk, a polite smile on my face though my inner monologue was urging me to glare at her… Or punch her. I think I’ve been spending too much time at the Foundry. Or with Oliver. I never thought violence was the answer before, but now… Well, let’s just say punching Isabel sounds very tempting.

“I need to speak with Mr. Queen. As I can see he’s free, I’m going in.” Isabel barely glanced my way, though at least this time she answered my question before barging in to see Oliver. Personally, I wasn’t quite sure what she needed to talk to Oliver about considering we’d just gotten back from a business trip to Russia… Where they slept together. They were probably planning a freaking date. That bitch.  
Oliver’s words kept playing in my mind, though I had yet to decide how to feel about them. “Hey… Because of the life I lead, I just think it’s better to not be with someone I really care about.”

Was he referring to me? Probably not. Laurel then. Except… He said it to me. I’m relatively sure I do an abysmal job hiding my emotions from stupid Oliver Queen. In fact, I’m pretty sure he noticed me glaring at him just now. Glaring at him and Isabel and not working. Oops.

I hastily turned back to my computer screen, double-checking various feeds I used to keep myself updated on nefarious happenstances in Starling City. For the record, there are an absurd amount of said happenings. I’m pretty sure if it weren’t for Oliver being so… Heroic? Sure. If it weren’t for Oliver being so heroic and saving people all the time I would have peaced out on this city after the first kidnapping. Well, technically I got kidnapped because of my involvement with the Vigilante, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, the question remains, does Oliver have feelings for me? And if so… What does that actually mean? He made it pretty clear that even if he did (does?) have feelings for me, he isn’t going to act on them because he’s afraid I’ll get hurt. Or she… Whoever she is.

Assuming it’s me… I wonder if I could somehow prove to him that I can handle myself. Maybe I should step up those self-defense lessons with Digg. He’s so busy with Lyla now though… Hm. Well, we’ll just have to figure something out.

Shaking my head in frustration with myself, I forced myself to focus on the screens, busying myself with actual Queen Consolidated business. Despite my stupendous resume, I don’t actually have a business background so my sudden promotion from IT guru to Executive Assistant wasn’t exactly the easiest transition. Especially not with stupid Oliver Queen wanting me to learn the job on the fly, while mostly focusing my attentions on the Hood. It’s not exactly easy helping run a Fortune 500 company. Maybe that’s why Isabel is such a bitch…

Speaking of, “Have a lovely day.”

Isabel ignored me as she walked out of Oliver’s office. Considering her quick pace to the elevator and the impatient tap of her foot against the tile, I determined that if she had tried to arrange a date with Oliver, he hadn’t been willing to oblige. I still couldn’t believe the little tramp had managed to worm her way into flying with us to Russia. I shouldn’t call her a tramp. That sounds like slut shaming. Probably shouldn’t call her a bitch either… But oh well.

“Felicity?” Oliver’s voice broke me out of my daze.

“Oh, sorry!” I blushed and my voice raised about three octaves, making my apology sound more like a squeak than anything else. “What can I do for you?”

“Have you found anything?” Oliver’s lips quirked upwards before leveling out again. It drove me crazy sometimes how straight faced he could be when my emotions tended to play out openly on my face… For that matter, sometimes they were delivered in a monologue before my brain caught up to my mouth.

“Oh. No, actually. Things seem moderately quiet at the moment.”

Oliver frowned slightly, making a noncommittal sound. “Do I have lunch plans?”

I pulled up his work calendar on my computer with a swift keystroke. “No. Why?”

“I want Chinese. What do you think?”

“Oh! Can we order it from that one place that gives you the free crab ragoons with the two combos?” I blurted my question so quickly he blinked once in response before nodding his assent.

“Craving Chinese today, Felicity?” he asked, a bit amused.

I nodded emphatically, “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Order away. You know what I like,” Oliver commented, turning to head back into his office. He paused at his doorway, “Thank you.”

I nodded, trying not to admire how strong and powerful he looked in his business suit, standing in the doorway of this massive office overlooking Starling City. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Oliver was born and bred for this position, but other times, I would catch him in a position where it was so apparent. Sometimes I wondered what he would be doing if he hadn’t been marooned on that island for five years. Though considering his fluency in Russian, I was admittedly beginning to wonder how much time he actually spent on said island. I’m getting side-tracked again. Stupid brain. Stupid man.

I called and placed our order for Chinese and then pulled up my email.

_Felicity,_   
_I really, truly, genuinely wish you would give me a call. I miss you, darling. I haven’t heard from you in ages. If you’re worried I’m going to berate you with questions about whether you’re eating, dating, working too much, etc. I promise to not! (But please make sure you are eating. And if you are dating, please tell me. And I know you’re working too much!)_   
_Your father and I miss you, quite terribly. It’s been months since you’ve been home and the last time you were here, you seemed so disheartened. I just wish you would at least pick up the phone and call._   
_Love,_   
_Mom_

Resting my head in my hands, I sighed. The problem with running home to your parents when everything is falling apart (i.e. you failed at keeping a psychopath from leveling the glades and then the man you were assisting in said mission who might be super important to you runs off for five fucking months) is that your parents then worry about you. Incessantly. All because you had a few consecutive bad days in a row in their presence that you couldn’t exactly explain. Oh sure, they understood that the earthquake was a devastating blow to the city, but they didn’t seem to understand that it should have a strong impact on you personally.

Sighing again, I tried to craft out a response that would get my mother off my back.

_Mom,_   
_I love you and Daddy both. I know I was a bit of a mess the last time I saw you and I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping in touch like I should. I’ve been really busy since I got this promotion to Executive Assistant. I’m still not sure why ~~Oliver~~ Mr. Queen picked me to take on this position, but I’ve been doing my best to ensure I live up to the high standards the company has set forth. I know you think I’m working too much, but I promise I’m having fun too._   
_I’ll call you and Daddy one day this weekend. Probably._   
_Love you both,_   
_Felicity_   
_P.S. I’m not dating anyone and I thought we agreed you were going to stop asking questions about my love life?_

I hadn’t actually told my parents that Oliver was a bit more than just my boss. That makes it sound like he’s my lover, but I really just mean that my parents don’t even know we’re friends. I need to do a better job keeping in touch with them. I’m all they have left since my brother was killed on the front lines in Afghanistan. It’s been tough going home since then though. They left both of our rooms the way they were when we left. Jay was younger than me by a couple years. I was in college at MIT when it happened. It’s not something we talk about, as a family, but going home there are pictures everywhere. I don’t do so well with dealing with traumatic occurrences. I tend to speak before I think for one thing and it’s resulted in me causing my mother to cry on several occasions because our ways of handling things are so very different. I should still go home more often though. Since getting involved with this vigilante business though, my time hasn’t exactly been free. There’s dust on my television, for heavens sakes. I’m half a season behind on my favorite show! I never thought that would happen.

Our Chinese arrived eventually and several hours passed where I worked on boring business stuff before finally it was time to leave. Digg came up to meet Oliver and I sweating profusely.

“Digg? Are you alright?” I questioned, looking at him with concern.

“Yeah… It’s just the flu. Want to remind me again what the schedule is like for tomorrow, Miss Executive Assistant?”

I rolled my eyes, but recited, “Pick Oliver and Thea up from home at 0800 for the opening statements at the trial. Stay there until the trial ends. Take them home. Or wherever Oliver decides to go since we know he doesn’t like to do as his schedule suggests.”  
Digg laughed weakly.

“Seriously, Digg, go get some sleep and take some meds or something.”

He shook his head, but I knew I was winning this argument so I merely gave him a pointed look and collected my things ready to head out. Oliver met us by the elevator and sent Digg a questioning glance, but Digg merely shook his head again. “I’m fine,” he groused.

Yeah, fine. Honestly, men are so stubborn sometimes.


	2. The Collapse of John Diggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diggle collapses on the floor at Queen Consolidated and Felicity figures out he's been exposed to vertigo without his knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize sincerely for the delay, but here is chapter two. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Also, please note that I do not own any of these characters and that I am just borrowing from the genius minds of those who created this show. (And also thank whoever decided that Stephen Amell should either wear fitted suits, his Arrow suit, or be shirtless because yes.)

Watching the live coverage of the State v. Queen trial was frustrating to say the least. Oliver and Thea being swarmed by press was perhaps not exactly new, but while their mother was on trial facing the death penalty? I mean, those reporters are like vultures or something. Oliver still isn’t really talking about it though. I think he’s still torn between Moira Queen as his mother and his vigilante personal that wants to scream, “You failed this city,” and make everything better. Too late to make this better, though. And she did try to fix her mistakes so… There’s that at least.

Diggle walked up to my desk as I was shuffling papers around trying to get things sorted. Fortunately for me, I actually had mindless tasks that didn’t distract from my musings.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Digg, but you look disgusting.”

We bantered back and forth for a few moments as I stood and moved into Oliver’s office to place a file on his desk while I rambled about my fear of pointy things. It really is ironic, considering…

Then as Digg was telling me that it wasn’t the flu, he just collapsed onto the floor! I’m relatively certain my heart stopped beating in shock even as I rushed to his side. How is it actually possible that I wind up in situations like this? Things like this never happened when I was just an IT girl. Well, that is, until Oliver Queen swooped into my life with his crappy excuses and psychotic ex-girlfriend’s.

I managed, somehow, to get Digg to my car and then sped as quickly as possible to Verdant, where I struggled again to get him inside. He admonished me not to call Oliver, but I mean, he collapsed on the floor! So I obviously did call Oliver who assured me that he would be to Verdant as quickly as possible and I tried (really!) to not let his voice and promise to hurry lull me into feeling like everything as going to be okay.

I sent a sample of Digg’s blood to this guy at Queen Consolidated who owes me a favor- good thing my mantra has always been to attract flies with honey. There’s a surprising amount of people at QC who owe me favors, though that doesn’t stop them from slandering my character. Is it bad that part of me finds it flattering that they think I’m sleeping with Oliver Queen? Probably. Don’t worry, the larger part of me is incredibly insulted, but considering I don’t actually have time to date thanks to Oliver Queen, at least other people think I’m getting some.

When the sample came back with trace amounts of vertigo, I made the executive decision to not inform Digg immediately, choosing instead to wait until Oliver was present. The discovery had me back to feeling like everything was absolutely not going to be okay. At all. I could feel the typical panic endeavoring to rise up within me and forced myself to take three deep breaths.

_You’re doing something. You’re trying to fix this. You will fix this._

It wasn’t that I couldn’t “handle” the stress of the vigilante business, more that I couldn’t handle the idea of one of the people I cared about being in danger. I was fine running recon and as soon as I knew Digg was going to be safe, I would be fine again, but… Vertigo. Vertigo means the Count. The Count… Who must have escaped at the same time as the Dollmaker.

I couldn’t stop the slight shudder that wracked my body when I even thought the name and was thankful that I found this information prior to showing it to Oliver. He kind of lets guilt eat him alive and letting me be bait for the Dollmaker, which didn’t exactly go super smoothly added to his burden. I hate feeling helpless. I hate that Oliver probably thinks I’m helpless.

Strong, quick, confident footsteps moved through Verdant and I looked to see Oliver’s entire body tense and almost vibrating with barely restrained energy. I forced my mind not to acknowledge Oliver’s fitted suit- but you know, if all men had access to a tailor and the money to afford Armani this world would be a much better place. Just for the record.

“I told you not to call him,” Digg tried to sound gruff and strong, but the effect was ruined slightly due to the whole him lying on the table because he would collapse otherwise. More or less telling him as much and filling Oliver in on what I knew, I watched as Oliver strode forcefully over to where he kept the arrows and grabbed one.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I murmured, thinking he was still wrapped up in the guilt mode.

“No, you don’t. I made a choice not to put an arrow in this guy and it was the right choice. No more killing.” Oliver’s voice was low, an undercurrent of steal present. You have to admire his convictions and how well he had managed to operate under this whole no killing motto since returning to his vigilante duties. He handed me the arrow containing the antidote to vertigo from before and I hoped, sincerely, that since escaping from prison the Count hadn’t tampered with his recipe. “Find out where he was exposed to vertigo without his knowledge.” Oliver’s command was low, with barely restrained agitation seeping through.

“I’m sorry this is happening now,” I murmured softly, but he was already moving. His mother’s trial and all. Right. Now to find out how exactly Diggle was injected with vertigo…

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first post to AO3, but I would appreciate any feedback that you have to offer! Let me know what you think.


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